A Real Basket Case (14 page)

“Hell, no. Cocaine’s an expensive drug. We sell only to adults with dough. Got no kids working for me, neither. You gotta be seventeen to work for Leon. I run a high-class business.”

Amazed, Claire just stared at him.
A drug pusher with ethics?

His face clouded over, as if reliving an ugly memory. “Meth’s some nasty shit. Real nasty shit. Even nastier to make than take.”

He shook off the reverie and refocused on her. “I admire your persistence, Mrs. Hanover, and the idea of hurting you doesn’t give me great pleasure.” He sighed and picked at another fingernail with his knife. “So I’m gonna tell you something to convince you to stop snooping around my business. But you gotta keep this in the strictest confidence.”

“I will.”

Leon pointed at her with the knife. “Swear it.”

A cold trickle of sweat inched down Claire’s back. “I swear I will not tell anyone what you are going to tell me. That’s a promise.”

“Good. Now, here’s the shit. I know for a fact neither Condoleza nor Travis killed Enrique. That’s ’cause Condoleza was with me.” Leon shifted in his seat and tilted his head toward the front of the car. “And Travis was with my two men up there during the time Enrique got shot.”

“Then you and Condoleza were . . . involved, too?”

Leon nodded. “Enrique understood the relationship between Condoleza and me. The lady and me go way back. But Travis is different, new to my operation. Condoleza hadn’t told him yet. I was being kind, giving him a little time to get used to the idea. So those two up front played pool with him while Condoleza and I had our . . . talk.” Leon grinned. “I told you she’s one hot little number.”

Claire stared at Leon. He had no reason to invent this story for her benefit. And she had no reason to doubt him. The realization hit in the pit of her stomach. Her top two suspects had just been cleared. She’d been wasting her own, and Roger’s, precious time. Tears threatened.

Leon watched her. Then, obviously coming to a decision, he closed the switchblade and tucked it in a pocket of his black denim vest. He leaned forward and tapped on the pane separating them from the two men up front. When the pane slid open, he said, “The church.”

The driver nodded and slid the pane closed again.

Claire sniffed back her tears. “What church?”

“Faith Redeemer, where you left your car.”

“You know everything, don’t you?”

“It’s my ’hood. People tell me what’s going on, especially strange, fancy cars left in parking lots.”

He pulled a bag of peeled baby carrots out of his pocket and popped one in his mouth. He held the bag out to her. “Carrot?”

Claire stared at the bag, then him.

He patted his paunch. “Doc says I have to lower my cholesterol. And my weight.” He offered the bag again.

This time she took a carrot.

He took a couple more for himself then returned the bag to his pocket. “I’ve got a man watching your car. Otherwise, it would be gone by now.”

“Why are you doing this for me?”

Leon reached over to pat her hand. “As I said before, I admire your loyalty to your husband. But I want you out of my hair for good this time.”

“For good this time.” Claire cracked a wry smile. “You know, Detective Wilson said pretty much the same thing.”

Leon threw back his head and laughed.

The limousine pulled into the church lot and parked next to Claire’s BMW. She saw the dark outline of a tall, thin man leaning against the back fence of the lot. When Leon’s driver cut the ignition, the man doffed his hat at the limousine and walked away.

The bodyguard got out and tapped on Leon’s window.

Leon rolled it down. “Let’s see, the passenger side mirror, I think.”

The bodyguard walked to Claire’s car. He carried a tire iron.

Claire gaped. “What?”

The man raised the tire iron and smashed the side mirror of her car. Glass tinkled on the ground. He hit the mirror again. It fell off the car with a clunk.

Claire turned to Leon, her mouth hanging open.

“More subtle than busting your kneecaps.”

“You wouldn’t—”

Leon smirked and patted her hand again. “Just giving you a little reminder not to mess with me again.”

Claire closed her mouth. Leon and his gang lived by a different set of rules from the ones her parents had taught her. She told herself to feel grateful they’d smashed her car mirror instead of some part of her body.

Leon leaned forward and touched her cheek, where Condoleza’s bed frame had scraped the skin. “Better get this cleaned up when you get home.”

Surprised he noticed or cared, Claire said, “I will. Thanks for your concern.”

“Before you go, let me give you some advice.”

Claire held up her hand. “Leon, I promise. I will not mess with you
ever
again.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “I’m glad we understand each other so well, but that’s not the advice I’m offering.” He paused. “If I was you, I’d check out those gym ladies in Enrique’s class.”

FIFTEEN:
GYM LADIES

Thursday morning an insistent
ringing woke Claire from a troubled sleep. Groggy, she checked the clock. Seven-thirty, less than six hours’ sleep. She fumbled for the cordless phone she’d placed on the nightstand next to Judy’s bed. “Hello?”

“Claire?”

“Deb?”

“Sounds like I disturbed your beauty sleep. Sorry. I flew in from
L.A. late last night, and I’m due in court at nine. I wanted to check on your progress before I got tied up.”

With a groan, Claire rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. “Last night was a doozy. I was set upon by rats, spiders, a homeless beggar, and a drug dealer wielding a switchblade. Then I was arrested, thrown in jail, kidnapped, and scolded like a misbehaving child by both a police detective and a drug boss. With a switchblade.”

“Wow! A hot time in the old town.”

“All my leads have gone cold.” Frustration left a bitter taste in Claire’s mouth. For the first time since she’d vowed to help Roger,
she felt true despair. “And time’s running out. Roger’s already
severely depressed, and he expects his boss to tell him to take leave tomorrow, the first step to firing him.”

“Tell me everything. A fresh set of ears could help.”

Claire briefed Deb on all that had happened since their last talk, on Monday. When she finished, Deb let out a long, low whistle. “What an adventure. I’d like to meet this Leon. Sounds like a cool dude.”

Claire smiled, then winced. She touched the bandage on her cheek. Her scrape still stung. “Why in the world would you want to meet a drug boss?”

“He’d be interesting and a good contact in my business. Anyway, I agree with Leon. The women at the gym are your best bet.”

Closing her eyes, Claire allowed herself a moment of self-pity, as an inner voice berated her for incompetence, inadequacy, stupidity, and false hopes. “That means I have to start all over again on new suspects.”

“Tracing the relationships that existed between the gym ladies and Enrique Romero could lead to the one who killed him. One of those women may have fallen for him and flown into a rage when he dumped her.”

“But how would she know he was at my house?”

“C’mon, you may have thought you were being discreet, but anyone could’ve seen you two leave the gym together.”

“Sometimes you wield your honesty like a tomahawk, Deb.”

She laughed. “Sorry about that.”

“Okay, here’s a harder question. What about the call to Roger’s office? I didn’t tell anyone at the gym where my husband works, not even Enrique. Only Ellen and Jill knew.”

“You didn’t have to tell anyone. Remember that charity photo of you two in the paper?”

“That was after Enrique—”

“Think back to the original article. Didn’t you tell me Roger’s company bought a table for that event?”

Claire closed her eyes and pictured the original group photo of the people at their table. “The caption. Yes, the photo caption named Roger’s company. But—”

“Back issues of newspapers can be searched on-line. I do it all the time. I lay odds Enrique compared his class roster against the society pages, too.”

“Ouch.” Claire grimaced.
Is that why he came on to me?
“You mean, to select his next seduction target.”

“All right, I’m tucking away my tomahawk. Let’s get back to the gym ladies. Is today your regular class?”

“No. Enrique’s class was Monday and Wednesday mornings.”

“Would any of his class members be at the gym today?”

“Brenda would. She’s the one who bought cocaine from him.”

“Start with her.”

Claire tried to roll onto her side, but her aching body resisted. “I’m exhausted.”

“You need to find out something by tomorrow, right?”

“I know, I know. You’ve put my brain in gear, but the bod’s still got the brakes on.” With a groan, Claire pushed herself up into a sitting position. “I’ll drag myself over there. But how do I talk to these women? I can’t just ask them outright if they killed Enrique.”

Deb laughed. “You’ve discovered investigating isn’t easy. Here’s what you do. Take advantage of women’s natural tendency to gossip. Even better, if you find out one is mad at another, or dislikes her, you can feed off that.”

“As far as I know, Brenda isn’t involved enough with anyone in the class to have made enemies.”

“But she was steamed at you for lying to her about needing to buy cocaine. Therefore, she has the potential to lose her cool. Get her emotional, so she doesn’t think through what she’s telling you. Same goes for the others. I should finish my testimony today, so I can drive down to help you tomorrow. In the meantime, here’s some hints for what you need to do today.”

Claire listened intently. After hanging up, she eased her stiff body out of bed. She adjusted the shower water as hot as she could tolerate and let the spray beat on her head and shoulders until she could rotate her neck without wincing. Maybe going to the gym would be good. She could work out the kinks in her sore muscles.

She peered in the mirror at the scrape on her cheek. She covered it with two small flesh-colored bandages, in place of the large gauze pad she had taped on the night before. As she dressed, she tried out and rejected a dozen stories for how she’d gotten the injury. She’d just have to gloss over it.

She arrived at the gym right after the ten o’clock aerobics class ended, and found Brenda dressing in the locker room—a red pantsuit this time, with red and gold matching jewelry. Claire looked down at her own jean shirt, khakis, and scuffed tennis shoes, and stifled a sigh.

“What happened to your cheek?” Brenda stared at Claire.

“It’s just a little scrape.” Claire plastered what she hoped was a disarming grin on her face. “Nothing important. I need to talk to you again. Can I buy you lunch?”

Brenda hesitated, looking ill at ease. “What’s this about?”

“Don’t worry. Not what we talked about last time. Do you want to eat in the health-food bar here or somewhere else?”

“Here.” Brenda slung her gym bag over her shoulder. “I don’t have much time.”

Claire considered asking if Brenda had another appointment with Travis, then thought better of it. She led the way to a booth at the rear of the snack bar so they would have some privacy.

After they placed their orders, Brenda said, “Did you find out if Travis killed Enrique?”

Claire hesitated, not sure she should divulge what she knew.

“I helped you, Claire. Turnabout is fair play. I need to know what kind of person I’m dealing with.”

She’s right. I owe her.
“I know for a fact that Travis didn’t kill Enrique. I can’t tell you how I know, but I think some woman who had an affair with Enrique in the past might have killed him. You know, a woman scorned . . .” Pausing for effect, Claire sipped her spring water.

With pursed lips, Brenda drew back. “You don’t think
I
killed him!”

Claire shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Not only no, but hell no. I never slept with the man.” Eyes blazing, Brenda crossed her arms.

“So you didn’t like him?”

“I don’t like what you’re insinuating. It was only business between us, nothing more.”

Claire decided she’d better back down before Brenda left in a huff. “Okay, I believe you. But since you had a business relationship with Enrique, maybe you know which women from the gym have had liaisons with him.”

“What do you plan to do with the names?”

“I’ll ask each of them what they know about the others and what they thought of Enrique, to see if anyone showed jealousy toward his other women or excessive anger at him.”

“Then what?”

“Then I’ll take my findings to the police. Try to get them to investigate someone other than my husband.”

Brenda snorted. “Good luck.”

“I know Roger didn’t kill Enrique.” Claire leaned forward. “That means a murderer is running around loose, maybe to kill again. If I were you, I’d be scared. You might know something that would make you a target.”

The waitress brought their lunch order.

Brenda took a forkful of teriyaki chicken salad. She chewed slowly then swallowed. “I never thought of it that way.”

Slicing her grilled eggplant, Claire said, “Whoever shot Enrique should pay for the crime and needs to be taken off the streets. My innocent husband shouldn’t go to jail in the killer’s place.”

Brenda raised a skeptical brow. “You’re sure your husband didn’t kill him?”

“A hundred percent sure. I have evidence to back up Roger’s story that he was framed, but it’s not enough for the police.”

Brenda studied Claire for a moment, then laid down her fork. “I’ll tell you right off the bat that Enrique didn’t discuss his affairs with me, so I can only tell you what I saw.”

Now we’re getting somewhere.
“I understand. What did you see?”

“First, your friend Jill. She stopped Enrique to talk to him a few times after class, once making him late for an appointment with me. It looked as though she was flirting with him.”

“Jill told me he turned her down.”

“I can’t say whether they actually got together or not. But if he turned her down, wouldn’t she have a reason to be ticked off?” Brenda peered at Claire, then scooped another bite of salad into her mouth.

“You’re right. She has to be on the list.” Claire didn’t believe Jill could kill anyone, but who knew who might be capable of murder deep down inside? “Anyone else?”

“About a year ago I saw Enrique leave the gym with a woman from the class, but she dropped out a few months ago. Someone said she moved. I don’t remember her name.” Brenda shrugged. “Then there’s Karla Deavers.”

“Karla?”

“The short, curly-haired redhead who stands in the front.”

“I remember her.”
Finally a useful name
. “She had an affair with Enrique?”

“I think so. A few months ago. I saw them talking and he had his arm around her, you know, possessive-like. Then I saw them walk into the gym together one morning.”

“I’ll try to catch Karla tomorrow after class.”

“You can catch her today if you want.” Brenda glanced at her watch. “She takes the eleven o’clock yoga class on Thursdays. That class will be over in a few minutes.”

“Great. Do you know of anyone else?”

Brenda thought for a moment. “Not with any certainty.”

Claire signaled the waitress and asked for the bill, then said to Brenda, “Thanks, I really appreciate your help.”

“You haven’t said anything to the police about . . . you know?”

Claire looked directly into her companion’s fearful eyes. “No, I haven’t. And I don’t intend to.”

Relief flooded Brenda’s face. “Thanks.”

Claire glanced at the bill and pulled a twenty out of her purse. She studied Brenda. “Do you ever think of quitting?”

“Every day, Claire. Every day.” Brenda drank the rest of her iced tea and stood. “Thanks for the lunch.”

While she finished her grilled vegetables, Claire watched Brenda walk away. On the outside the successful-looking architect with the carefully coordinated outfits epitomized self-confidence and poise. But on the inside, she fought her desire for cocaine every day. Claire no longer envied her.

Could Brenda have killed Enrique?
Brenda had sounded believable when she said she hadn’t slept with Enrique. She was not a woman scorned. But did the tormented young architect have another motive?

Walking into the locker room to find Karla, Claire’s thoughts turned to the redhead. Claire remembered the woman as being a talker, annoying her classmates with her constant prattle, usually juicy gossip about someone else. Maybe Claire could use that trait to her advantage.

Karla stood alone at the third row of lockers. The green sweater she wore complemented her bouncy red curls. Awkwardly, she straddled the bench with her short legs as she applied makeup in front of a small mirror on the wall.

Claire smiled. She’d often had to do the same thing when the space in front of the large, lighted mirror over the sinks became crowded. “They don’t make it easy for you, do they?”

Karla glanced at her in the mirror. “The lighting sucks, too.”

“Yeah, the shadows make me look even scarier than I usually do without makeup.”

Karla snapped the cap on her lipstick and faced Claire. “What
brings you here today? Aren’t you in the Monday, Wednesday class?
”

“Yes, but I’m here today because I need your help.”

Karla’s eyes went wide. “My help? Whatever for?”

“You know who I am, right? Claire Hanover.”

“I know. Your husband shot—”

Holding up her hand to silence Karla, Claire glanced around, then whispered, “I’m convinced my husband didn’t kill Enrique, and I’m looking for clues as to who might have.”

Frowning, Karla stiffened.

Claire rushed on before Karla had a chance to refuse to help. “I’m new to the gym and haven’t met many people. Since you seem to know everyone, I thought you might know some things about the other women in the class that could help me.”

Karla raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Why should I help you?”

Claire realized she would have to play on Karla’s love of gossip. “I hoped I could appeal to your sense of justice. I have proof that someone tried to frame Roger. And there’s more.”

Karla stopped piling things in her gym bag. “More?”

“Yes, more.” Claire had set the hook. She leaned in close, winked, and whispered, “More than the police know, more than anyone here knows.”

Karla’s eyes narrowed. Her tongue flicked out to lick her lower lip. “Interesting.”

“I’ll tell you all about it over lunch, my treat. All I ask is that you be willing to tell me what you know.”

As Karla wavered, Claire threw out a clincher. “Let’s go someplace where we can talk in private. How about the Cliff House in Manitou Springs? Do you like Continental food?”

“I never turn down a meal at the Cliff House.”

Karla’s eyes glittered, either from anticipating a luxurious meal at one of the most exclusive restaurants in town or a sumptuous serving of gossip. Claire couldn’t tell which and didn’t care.

Half an hour later, Claire sipped a glass of Chardonnay and surveyed the elegant dining room. Waiters glided between tables covered with cream-colored damask linens that matched the walls, on which hung oil paintings of local scenes—the Garden of the Gods, Manitou Springs, the Rocky Mountains. The clink of silver on china and ice in crystal goblets punctuated quiet conversations at other tables.